


Tuesday I’m In Love

by khazadspoon, tenley



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, M/M, More tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-13 11:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khazadspoon/pseuds/khazadspoon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenley/pseuds/tenley
Summary: Arthur is a tattoo artist who works at a bar at night to make ends meet. Charles is a mysterious florist.aka The Healing Modern AU We All Need





	Tuesday I’m In Love

It’s about eight o’clock on a Monday night, and across from Arthur sits a man who looks worse for wear. He can’t actually see the stranger’s face; his head is laid down on his arms, his long, silky, black hair pooled around him. Arthur isn’t the kind of man to judge someone on when they let loose late at night — his schedule is all over the place, his own day off is usually Tuesday — but something about this fella’s perceivable mood just isn’t sitting well with him.

“You holdin’ up okay there, partner?”

The most he gets in reply from the stranger at first is a grunt. He lifts his head, just a bit, his deep, umber eyes peeking up, and Arthur feels pinned like a butterfly under the man’s gaze. 

“My father,” the stranger starts, then clears his throat when his voice comes out scratchy and rough. “My father died today.”

Arthur fights the urge to place an unsolicited hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that, mister.”

The stranger tilts his head so his cheek is resting on his hand, and Arthur notes the sadness in his eyes. “He wasn’t a very good father. He was a drunk. And I ran away pretty young. But he was the only family I really remember.” He chuckles humorlessly. “So here I am. I think he would be proud.”

“Of the drinkin’?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Arthur purses his lips and thinks for a moment, studying the man’s face. His dark skin is flawless and smooth save for a lightning bolt-like scar on his cheek; his lips are full, if chapped; his hair, although tousled and tangled, neglected in his distress, is still gorgeous.

John, the son of a bitch, was supposed to show up about an hour ago for his shift. Maybe he was losing track of time at the shop, doing God knows what. 

“You seem like you need somethin’ other than a few drinks to distract you,” Arthur starts, careful, like he’s approaching a startled horse who wants to run away. Most patrons in that state of mind don’t much like being cut off.

But the man stays agreeable, propping his elbow up on the bar and resting his chin on his hand. “Hmmm. What are you suggesting, pretty boy?”

Arthur scowls. “Pretty boy, huh? That’s rich, coming from you.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

A pause. The two stare one another down, in a standoff, waiting for the other to fold.

“Charles,” says the stranger right as Arthur takes a breath to speak. “My name is Charles Smith.”

Charles holds out his hand, and Arthur is feeling cheeky, so he takes it daintily and places a kiss on his dark skin. “I’m Arthur Morgan, Charles. Good to meet you.”

—

“This is me,” Arthur mumbles as they crowd eagerly into one another’s space, on the verge of going further into one another but not quite sure of themselves. He fumbles with the room key for an awkward moment or two before finally getting the grubby-looking door to the motel room out of their way.

“Did you, uh... want something to drink?” Arthur asks, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. It’s not like he‘s never had a one night stand before — he fell into a seemingly endless pit of self destruction after he and Mary broke it off that included a lot of drinking and nameless faces.

But Charles is different. They’ve been holding hands and chatting idly since John finally made it to the bar and cut Arthur loose of his bartending duties. Charles likes plants, hunting his own food, and riding horses at the ranch an hour outside of the city. He has a really nice deep voice, that rumbles through a thick barrel chest. His hands look like they would be clumsy, thick fingers and old calluses galore, but when he plays with Arthur’s beard as they slowly come together, they feel as gentle and skilled as a pianist’s. 

When their lips come together, they both sigh, Arthur opening up first and letting Charles take the lead. His kisses are thorough, long, and just a little bit desperate. Arthur loses himself to the kiss, letting Charles take what he needs, taking what’s given to him with moans and groans and husky whispers.

“I wanna fuck you,” Charles growls, reaching around to knead at Arthur’s ass. Arthur groans, grasping onto Charles’ shoulders, bracing his arms to support his weak-kneed legs. 

Their foreheads touch, their breaths heating the air between their faces as Arthur breathes, “Sure thing.”

Pants tented, there’s an awkward shuffle to get to the plastic bag of condoms and lube, then the tricky business of keeping themselves from grinding into each other and cutting the fun short. It really vexes Arthur how his usual shyness and anxiety is eclipsed by Charles’ calm nature.

“Charles,” he moans into the night about thirty minutes later, earning himself a growl in return. 

He’s bent over the side of the dingy motel bed, one strong hand holding his hip, the other grasping at his shoulder. Up on his tiptoes, his legs shake with the effort of holding himself up; were it not for Charles’ hands, he would surely be a puddle on his bed. He relishes the slap of skin on skin as Charles pounds into him, letting him fuck his woes away. 

Arthur squawks as he’s torn out of his reverie by getting flipped over like he weighs nothing; his cock twitches at the thought, and he moans Charles’ name again, his head thrown back with pleasure. Charles wraps his arms around and behind him, pulling on his hair from behind as he fucks up into Arthur’s prostate, and they both come at nearly the same time, blinded by pleasure. 

How romantic.

Afterwards, they lie in bed, trying to catch their breath, and Arthur asks, “Do you feel at least a little better?”

Charles chuckles happily, and Arthur’s heart soars. “A lot better. Thanks, Arthur.”

—

The next morning, after a kiss to his cheek and a slip of his number into Charles’ hand, Arthur feels a bit empty. Something about Charles and their chance meeting makes him feel hopeful, though, and as terrifying as hope feels, what horrors it’s historically brought, but he can’t help it; hope blooms in his heart, anyway.

He leaves the motel and walks back to the bar, only a couple of blocks down, to get his motorcycle. Today is his day off from the shop, and he thinks, as he cruises through the city, that he may as well dedicate his day to his artwork. John had suggested that he try drawing something new — plants. He avoids clients who want plants and flowers often as portraits and landscape are more his strengths.

As soon as Arthur steps off of the bustling street and into the shop, he feels he can breathe a little easier. Saint Denis is nice and all, but something about the overcrowded sidewalks and beeping cars and people walking while staring at their phones racks up Arthur’s anxiety a bit. 

But living out in the countryside isn’t exactly the most lucrative idea, so here he is, in a flower shop for a moment or two of respite.

The humid air inside wraps around him like a blanket. The greenery and colorful blooms immediately make him feel at peace. Air plant terrariums hang from the ceiling with twine. There is a magnificent succulent display that looks like the deserts of Arthur’s childhood home. Planters made of quartz seem to glimmer, and others made of ceramic look handmade with love and care. 

Arthur falls in love a little bit.

But he mustn’t forget why he’s here. His hands move to his satchel, not looking away from the succulent display as he grabs his sketchbook.

“Hey there.”

“GAH —“

“Oh, I’m sorry —“

“No, it’s alright, I just —“

The man — presumably the owner — who spooked Arthur reaches down for the fallen sketchbook, at the exact same time Arthur does.

Their heads smack against one another.

Scrambling to stand up, Arthur takes a gander at the man he knocked into the next century with his stupid head, and his mouth goes a bit dry.

“Charles?!”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry, Arthur,” Charles says, rubbing his head. He hands the sketchbook back to Arthur and their equally rough hands meet briefly, and it’s like there’s a spark there. Arthur’s knees feel weak.

“No, it’s — it’s my fault, I’m an idiot,” Arthur mumbles. “You probably didn’t need the headache, I’ll just be going now...”

 

“No, hey,” Charles placates, smoothing his hair down where it fluffed up after their collision. “It’s really okay, don’t worry about it. Was there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, uh... nah, just lookin’.” Arthur brandishes his sketchbook. “I’ve been meaning to get better at drawing plants.”

Charles raises his eyebrows, surprising Arthur with his genuinely interested expression. “You’re an artist, huh? You a student?” 

“Oh, no,” Arthur says, “I’m a tattoo artist. I work over at Wolfman Custom.”

“Nice. I guess the city is the place for you, despite the lack of plants to draw. Not a whole lot of tattoo parlors out in the country.”

Arthur hums, feeling a bit nervous. He can’t help feeling a bit shy. Charles’ ruggedly handsome appearance and deep, kind voice are making him a little sweaty. “Exactly, partner. I’ve always been okay at drawin’ landscapes, people, animals, you name it — but my little brother, John, suggested I branch out.”

Charles snickers. “Branch out. Good one.”

That startles a chuckle out of Arthur. “Well, shit, that weren’t intended, but I guess it was okay.”

“Well,” Charles sighs, “I won’t keep you, clearly you’ve got more work to do than me. I’ll be in the back with Taima. You probably shouldn’t worry about getting in anyone’s way, I ain’t usually busy on Tuesdays.”

Arthur goes to tip his hat, belatedly realizing he’d left it on his bike outside. He feels his face heat up as he ducks his head and thanks Charles. 

“Oh! I also have an extra stool, if you want,” Charles offers, and before Arthur can bashfully refuse, he’s gone to the back. 

After Charles leaves, he then notices a black and white speckled border collie lying behind the counter; Taima, presumably. Arthur coos and scratches her ears while he waits.

Good lord. Charles is an adorable florist with an adorable dog and a veritable sea of perfect little succulents, perfect for drawing. Arthur is doomed. 

Charles comes back with the stool, presents it with a little flourish, then retreats into the back of the tiny store. Arthur finds it difficult not to watch him go.

—

“You seem different, Arthur,” Karen accuses in a mischievous tone.

He glances warily at Karen over the bar as he twists a rag around the inside of the glass in his hands. Her gaze is narrowed, her palms flat against the bar supporting her as she leans into Arthur’s space. 

“I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about, Miss Nosey.”

“She’s right, you know,” Tilly says, her sweet voice a contrast to her equally sly expression. “You keep smiling. You never smile unprompted.”

“Do you finally have a new girlfriend?” Mary-Beth implores, her eyes wide and eyebrows high on her forehead. Her hands clap together in her excitement. “Oh, Arthur, please tell me you have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend!”

The other ladies giggle at that, falling out at Arthur’s red face. 

“Would y’all shut up?” Arthur grumbles, finding it impossible to snap at them when they seem so happy for him. “I’m tryin’ to work here, be at least a bit professional. I got customers to tend to.”

Karen rolls her eyes. “What customers? It’s seven o’clock on a Wednesday, Arthur. Now spill the beans already.”

Arthur sighs, finally putting down the glass he he’d been cleaning for much longer than necessary. He looks both ways, deliberating how much to share, before —

“There’s this guy...”

All three young women go bug eyed, leaning in to listen to his embarrassed, hushed voice.

“I met him here,” he starts, haltingly, before he decides to keep last night’s rendezvous to himself for now. “He owns a flower shop — Taima’s? It’s down the street from Wolfman. I went in there lookin’ to do some botanical studies in my sketchbook and it turns out he owns the place and... ugh...” Arthur groans. “He’s just so...”

“Dreamy?” Tilly supplies.

“Handsome?” Mary-Beth suggests.

“Sexy?!” Karen practically shouts.

Arthur scowls, rolling his eyes. “...Adorable. He’s adorable.” He rubs his face. “He named his store after his dog. He’s so cute I can’t stand it, I really can’t. I just wanna go back and draw him. He’s got these eyes... I could get lost in ‘em — “

“Oh, Arthur,” Mary-Beth coos as she covers his hand with her own. “You got it bad.”

Arthur scowls down at where their hands meet, but he doesn’t pull away. “Well, you nosey ladies will be delighted to hear that I was just as awkward and uncomfortable about everything as you might expect.

“But... we got a date for next Tuesday.”

The ladies lose their minds at that, giggling and whispering to each other and lecturing Arthur on what to wear and what to say and what to do. Whether he regrets telling he knows not, but he knows for sure that he feels twenty years older than he really is amongst the girls.

**Author's Note:**

> lmk what y’all think! shoutout to my new pal/collaborator complaininginthedark on tumblr for the help with brainstorming!


End file.
